


The Shoal (Where Ghost Currents Swirl)

by Filigranka



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gift Giving, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Politics, Worldbuilding, does exhibiting anger counts as exhibitionism?, fantasying about suicide/death, really really light, sort of. everything is sort of with these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-02 22:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16796335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: The First Order's business trip to Kuat was a nightmare. Or a dream. Depends on when you asked.(also, on your opinion about Huttese cuisine)





	The Shoal (Where Ghost Currents Swirl)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinysylver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinysylver/gifts).



Hux always had liked to imagine himself as a story character. The main hero. Brilliant, cunning, ruthless general. Ruling the galaxy, first from the shadows, and then openly – and his rule would be, of course, both strict and just, going down in history as the beginning of the golden age. He was exactly the type of character who would surround himself with assassins, hide a lethal, high-tech, _fancy_ weapon up his sleeve and always, absolutely always had perfect hair.

Ha. Ha. It all seemed like a joke, now, when he was leaning over the toilet, shaking with nausea, strands of his _perfect hair_ plastered to his brow by sweat. He supposed it had become a joke a while ago, long before they, he and Re – Supreme Leader – had stepped on this damn snobbish planet.

He didn’t have even his monoblade to contemplate the image of slicing his own throat and lying, melodramatically and beautifully, on the wet, cold floor, his yet-perfect hair flowing around his face like a golden halo. Sunrise. Supernova. It was another one of these life-long fantasies of his, one he had always suspected impossible – he never had been the suicide-type – but found soothing nonetheless. Golden halo of hair, small ponds of crimson red contrasting with pale skin, other people mourning him – his father, finally admitting he failed his son, when Hux had been young enough to not feel terribly disgusted by the sole idea of Brendol being his father. Such a loss. Such a talent. At such a young age. Rae would call out his father for the years of abuse and break his nose, and his father would confess it all, too, and all the others…

Hux shook his head. The nausea immediately returned, but he preferred it to this childish vision. Yes, it was soothing, he fell back to it whenever walking or pushing his nails in his palms weren’t enough, but at that time, on this damn marble floor he only saw its deep silliness. Nobody would mourn him. Peavey would sigh with relief and start a party. Ren would – oh, please. Now he wallowed in self-pity. Great, just great.

His fingers combed through his hair, instinctively. The sleeve of his shirt almost hit him in the face.

It was irritating, this circling of his thoughts, like a broken circuit in some machinery. His hair. The others. His father. Ren – _Supreme Leader_. His hair, again. This foolishness should stop. Immediately. He ordered it to stop. He wasn’t dying, for hells’ sake, he was just sick.

It was all the Supreme Leader’s fault and this realization made Hux feel a little better. It was the Supreme Leader who had made him wear not his military uniform and coat, with the soothing presence of the blade in it, but formal Core attire with nods to Kuatian fashion, like wide sleeves and a thick, ornamented belt, which both made Hux feel ridiculously, dangerously constrained. It was the Supreme Leader who had decided they both had to go to Kuat for “business negotiations” – or rather: attempts to convince the Kuat shipyards to do at least some of “Supremacy” repairs at warranty, or rather: the most polite (pitiful) request to lower the estimated repair costs – leaving their army virtually unsupervised and leaving _Hux_ open to attempts on his life. Such as serving him such terrible, dietary-unbalanced, shining from fat, _traditional_ dishes.

He had gone through the acclimatisation procedures on the “Finalizer”, of course. He had eaten the unhealthy, sweet and fatty planetary dishes, with the nutritional value skewed in the “sugar” and “calories” territory and definitely lacking in the “vitamins” and “anti-oxidants” department. The First Order had such preparation-programs for all bigger planets, slowly accustoming the would-be-visitors to the climate, gravitation, cuisine, pollens in the air et cetera. It wouldn’t do if their official representatives were to die out of anaphylactic shock upon setting their foot outside of the tightly-controlled fleet environment.

The thing was, those damn Kuat matriarchs, like all galaxy elites, felt a little offended over him blowing up the Hosnian system. By the virtue of being the Republic’s capital, it was also one of bigger financial centres. Blowing it up – especially without any warning “to their dear business partners” – had brought the Core’s higher class, to which Kuat very much belonged, heavy losses.

So, when Hux, Supreme Leader and the rest of the delegation landed on the surface, the fest which welcomed then included, in addition to traditional Kuatian dishes, a ton of Hutt cuisine. Officially, because the shipyards had invited the Huttese Syndicate, the First Order’s main insurers – another unpleasant surprise – and they needed to make a polite nod towards them. Unofficially, well, Hux’s visit to the bathroom was the shining example of their unofficial intentions. He supposed he should be grateful they hadn’t planned to assassinate him as an example. ‘You made some trouble for us, we make some trouble for you.’

Hux’s stomach turned. He did his best to ignore it. The lasts spasms were just acid, there was no more Huttese poison to cleanse from his system. He should get a grip and get back to the welcome banquet. Kuat shipyards were the only ones in the whole galaxy with the equipment and the experience required for the repair of the “Supremacy”. The First Order’s people and factories could do much, but some of the damn technical details were still patented industry secrets. Trying to figure them out on your own might end in ~~a~~ court. Or with a few bombings, in the less official side of a company war.

The First Order couldn’t afford threatening Kuat, not now. Offending the Hutts wouldn’t be wise either. Hux really should come back, smile, throw out some polite lies, sit down and sing the high praises of the food.

He would. In a moment. Just… in a moment. Yes.

A presence appeared in his mind, a concerned one. Checking on him. He wasn’t sure it wasn’t a fragment of his imagination, but then–

‘General? May I come in?’

That was strange. Hux would expect the Supreme Leader to storm through the door with no regard to his preferences in the matter.

‘General? Are you…’

‘I’m fine. Supreme Leader.’ Perhaps his disappearance from the table roused some comments and Ren was here to punish him. But why bother with asking, then? ‘I’ll be right back. Just give me a minute or two.’ He pushed himself to his feet. The move seemed a little shaky, but he managed it without much dizziness. A good sign.

There was a pause at the other side of the door. Then, ‘I’ll come inside in two minutes, all right?’

‘You don’t have to ask me for permission. You’re my–‘

‘I don’t want to see you in a… state of disarray, General.’

Ah. So this was it. Ren just didn’t want to get dirty. This, Hux could understand, although he abhorred the thought of how weak he must seem. Supreme Leader didn’t seem to suffer so much because of these “delicacies of one of the galaxy’s oldest cuisines”. Perhaps – Hux splashed cold water on his face – perhaps it was another gift from this Force of his.

‘Talk to me, General.’

‘Wha– why? I mean – of course, but–‘

A beat of silence.

‘You were thinking about suicide.’

Great. So Ren had been lurking in his thoughts for a while now and apparently decided that a general of the First Order killing himself because of the hosts’ choice in cuisine wouldn’t “send a proper message” or look good in the holonews. How considerate of him.

‘Did your Force forget to tell you it wasn’t serious? Just a–‘ habit, but this would sound ridiculous, ‘–anger-controlling method. You should try it, Ren. For a change,’ he realised what he said, as usual, a moment too late. ‘I mean – if you would like to, Supreme Leader.’

‘You weren’t controlling your anger.’ Oh, wonderful, now Ren got into his pensive or fake-deep-nonsense-spurting mood. ‘You were just aiming it at yourself. And it hurt you.’

‘Aiming the force – choosing its target – is one of the forms of control. You should know that.’ Hux meant it “as a politician’s child”, but Ren, of course, must have taken it differently, because after a pause, he spoke just ~~a~~ one word, full of vitriol: ‘Snoke’ and then, quickly, ‘two minutes passed, I’m coming.’

Hux buried his face in the towel. Pushed his thumbs through it into his eyelids so strongly he saw circles of lights.

‘Here.’ He heard and instinctively held out his hand. ‘A toothbrush and a paste. I thought you might want to use them.’

This was… unexpected. Hux hung the towel and looked at the hygiene utensils suspiciously. The seemed to be safe enough, but – on the other hand, Hux’s image was the image of the First Order, at least partly. For the Supreme Leader to realise it, would be strangely reasonable – but reasonable nonetheless.

Hux brushed his teeth almost grudgingly. He hated when Supreme Leader was right. The water Hux spat at the end was red from blood.

‘See? You’re still angry,’ for once Ren didn’t sound triumphant, more like concerned, ‘and you’re hurting yourself. It’s not control, if it’s not effective. Productive.’

‘It _is_. I haven’t destroyed anything, have I?’ He gestured at the whole toilet. ‘It’s impeccable. No damage. There’ll be no sign of my…‘ He wasn’t sure how to call it. “Indisposition”? Would suggest a weakness, even if only minor one. “Attack”? Would sound too big, like another word from his speeches – and making big speeches with a toothbrush in one’s hand was rather comical. So, perhaps simple “presence”–

‘You can’t be serious.’ Supreme Leader closed the space between them in few long steps and Hux flinched, preparing for a push or a tightening grasp on his throat; it didn’t come, instead it was Ren who made a step back, rising his hands. ‘General. Just… Just think. About what you have said. It doesn’t make _sense_.’

‘To _you_ , Supreme Leader? Right, I suppose it _did not_.’ He never seemed familiar with the concept of property damage as something to be avoided.

‘There is a damage. You were hurting yourself, you were thinking about making it worse, what is it if not damage to the Order’s – to my – personnel? Do you think I – the Order – cares about some bathroom utensil more than about its – my – general? High-ranking officer? It’s insane. It’s not even the Order’s bathroom! This hotel belongs to the most noble of Kuat families, they’re already drowning in money. They probably redecorate this whole floor at least once every three months, so it would complement the season-changing view from the window!’ Kylo waved a hand. The whole-wall mirror broke in half. Hux grit his teeth. ‘Ooops. Perhaps this will make them reconsider the wisdom of serving the First Order’s general food he finds suboptimal.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘I guess you’re right.’ Another wave of the hand, and the sink fell to the floor. Hux barely managed to escape the water which jetted from it. ‘Now, better?’

Every fibre of Hux’s being shivered in protest. He wanted to flee, hide himself in the corner, wait through it. Like in the past. Like always.

‘If you ask about _my_ wellbeing, then no, I’m not feeling better. However, I hope you’re enjoying yourself.’ He was sincere. He absolutely hoped the Supreme Leader had enjoyed himself and wouldn’t try to release his anger again, for example on a certain general.

But the Supreme Leader just – deflated. “I’m not the one who’s angry. I mean, no, I am. Don’t give me this face, General. Think about it… politically. You leaving this bathroom impeccable, like you planned. What kind of message would it send? That we are oh so concerned with the state of the Kuat’s rooms? That we care for the possible problem for their plumbing and cleaning, but not about the offence to our own officer? You aren’t _their_ servant, General. They better remember that.’ He smiled viciously, and Hux’s stomach turned again, this time also from a pleasure, which he preferred to not name. ‘I think they will.’

‘What have you done?’

‘Don’t worry. They’re still perfectly able to repair my ships.’ Ren’s voice became a little warmer; he liked being feared. ‘I just gave them a piece of my mind.’ He shrugged, an inelegant, bored gesture Hux hated so much. He was drawling, now, speaking in circles and digressions, a habit Hux found much easier to stand when he himself was the one indulging in it. ‘Perhaps I also suggested if they can’t find money for… some renovation in their less crucial infrastructure… then their financial situation is worse than anybody thought and others… for example, the Hutts… shouldn’t be so worried about the punctuality of _our_ payment.’

This sounded actually quite – well. Reasonably. Intelligently. Almost like the Supreme Leader would finally start making use of his upbringing in a politician’s house.

‘I was angry,’ Ren offered in a way of an explanation. And perhaps it was this, perhaps Ren still sat in Hux’s head, listening to his every thought. Or just vaguely felt his mental bewilderment. ‘I haven’t brought you here to…’ He paused. Bit his lip, lightly. ‘For this. I have brought you here, because you are better at the technical and budget stuff than me. And – and I had thought–‘ He looked at Hux miserably, like he would expect him to finish the sentence somehow. ‘Youlikenicethings.’.

‘I– what?’

‘You like nice things. Privileges which come with your rank. And this the most luxurious hotel in Kuat’s capital. Even the kriffing Huttese food was masterfully done. Just, well, Huttese. You saw our apartments, the main room is bigger than Snoke’s audience chamber. I thought – you might like it.’ He looked downright pathetic, now, avoiding Hux’s gaze.

‘I like the rooms,’ admitted Hux, mostly because he had no idea how to respond, to process even, the rest.

Ren positively beamed. As much as such a brooding, wearing-all-black man could beam. And this, finally, made a cog in Hux’s head turn. He blinked, shocked by the realisation.

‘You meant this delegation as a gift? For… like, for me?’

Ren pressed his lips together. He was still avoiding Hux’s gaze. ‘A shore leave of sorts,’ he tried. ‘So you could… relax. Feel better. After all these–these–lately–‘ His jaw snapped shut. ‘Well, yes. A gift. Let’s call it that.’

Ah. Hux felt like almost like a mystic, hit by the epiphany after epiphany. Did wonders ever cease, indeed.

‘Oh, no, no, _Supreme Leader_. I think I’ve a better proposition. What do you think of “the apology note”? For all _these-these_ , you know, being hit by walls and consoles too rude to dodge when the Supreme Leader is throwing _his_ officers on them. Well, yes, I wonder how we can call it, if not _these-these_. Perhaps “a breach of the employee’s rights” would be correct. Or “an abuse”. Or–‘

‘That’s more than enough, General,’ Ren’s voice became lower, dangerously so.

With that warning, Hux he should have stopped if he valued his own wellbeing. Point was, as the whole suicide-fantasy nonsense should help him realise, Hux’s survival instinct was a contrarian beast. Yes, he would very much to like survive, preferably in luxury, but he also didn’t like getting disappointed. And he knew that this tone of voice meant trouble, it had done so for as long as could remember. And he was not letting Ren disappoint him – treat him like a toy – make him crawl and beg, and accommodate Ren’s damn moods in the vain hope it would get him spared – he was. not. Anything of this sort. Not anymore.

‘Enough? Are you worried you will make, thanks to your temper, an actual decision, without pushing responsibilities on others? Troubling your own hands? Kuat’s hotel as an apology note, our hands as tools to kill your mother and that girl, Snoke as a desire and reason to kill your father… And now, what, I wonder, this water here–’ he kicked it to prove it, splashing the droplets everywhere, including on his and Ren’s faces, ‘–as my killer, because I’ll _slip on it_ , hit my head and die, with which, of course, you won’t have anything to do– ‘

‘Enough!’ Ren closed the space between them, grabbed Hux’s hands, forcing his palms open, whispered ‘Enough, enough, enough’ again, and kissed him.

Funny, but, after what felt like centuries later, the first more or less coherent thought which crossed Hux’s mind was belated realisation he had been unconsciously thrusting his nails into his palms through his whole little speech – which meant: Ren had stopped him.

And was kissing him. Right. Hungry, sloppy, _desperate_ kisses, Hux recalled, on his mouth, along the line of his jaw, on the side of his neck. Riiiight. This should probably be placed higher on his list of priorities.

‘Supreme–Ren,’ he mumbled; speaking with his face buried in black, thick hair wasn’t easy.

‘Don’t you even try this – this death-adulation bullshit again. You’re so foolish, it’s insufferable, you – you hurt yourself, throw yourself down some damn suicidal spiral and all of this, because… because you don’t want to break a – a fucking toothbrush? Throw a towel on the dirty floor? Do you think I care about some toothbrushes?’

‘No,’ deadpanned Hux; he felt mostly drained, exhausted and _wet_. These elegant, official shoes weren’t so resistant to water as the military boots. ‘I know from experience you don’t.’

Ren grabbed his head, his palms – Hux suddenly became aware of how big they really are – holding his temples like a vice.

‘You’re driving me mad,’ Ren almost stuttered at words; he nuzzled his face against the side of Hux’s neck and breathed deeply. ‘There’s so much of The Dark Side in you – and you’re not even sensitive to it – if I could drink it from you, from your mouth, I’d never be thirsty again, you know? Never again torn. And instead of helping me, you’re driving me mad.’ His grip relaxed suddenly, changing into the caress. Long, warm fingers combed through Hux’s hair. ‘I meant that you matter to me – that I care about you more than about some stupid toothbrushes.’

‘Are you sure?’ muttered Hux, a little sleepily. He supposed it was the side-effect of the physical strain caused by the nausea. And, perhaps, also a matter of Ren’s hands petting the spots behind his ears and the back of his neck, and – but no, no. The nausea sounded like a more likely culprit. ‘After all, you take some stupid toothbrush into your mouth at least twice a day. And me–‘

‘General Hux, are you trying to talk dirty to me?’

‘Were you trying to be romantic, Supreme Leader? You know, a moment ago, with this great flirtatious opening line about me being worth more than a credit-costing hygiene utensil replaced every other month? Well, I guess it’s better than being compared to a paper tissue.’

‘If a self-deprecating spiral is still all you have to offer, I’m going back to our previous, more pleasant activi–‘

‘Ah, yeah, about that. Ren!’ Hux turned his head.

Ren sighed ‘I don’t want a word more’, but stopped. Curiouser and curiouser, as Hux’s mother put it. ‘May we, please, take it to one of our bedrooms? They’re a lovely gift, thank you, I want to properly savour it. And also, erm, my shoes. I think I’ve got some Hoth-cold water in them.’

**Author's Note:**

> Billion thanks for Gamebird, for helping me with grammar!


End file.
